Eternal Target
by Tiquismiquis
Summary: The Shepherds return to Ylisstol following an anonymous tip that an assassin is after Emmeryn. Frederick, for one, will not take any chances. FrederickxEmmeryn. Takes place right before Chapter 6.


_This one's for Flutterspark!_

* * *

"Close the door, please, Frederick."

"Milady," he tried to protest, but she simply said his name again, just as calmly, yet with the slightest sternness this time, the first stroke of a whetstone across a blunt blade. He did as he was told.

Emmeryn's chamber was just as he remembered: the Exalt's massive bed, white-canopied and cold and unshared; great windows that overlooked all of Ylisstol, now blue-dark as the night sky, with the errant orange pinprick of a far-off torch; shelves of thick and well-thumbed books (her doing, not her father's). Emmeryn herself was largely unchanged too, fully clothed in her pale robes despite the late hour, still wearing her golden crown and her expression. _That Look_, Chrom and Lissa called it, for there was simply no better way to say it: just Emmeryn, almost inhumanly serene.

Angelic.

But the room was too open, he knew. Windows were too easily smashed, curtains too easy to hide behind. A whole armed brigade could fit beneath the large, empty, perfectly-made bed. And even if the assassin had no weapons, Emmeryn could be dragged over her balcony railing, strangled with her sheets, bludgeoned with the dimly lit candelabra. The anonymous tip Chrom had received told him someone was coming for her _tonight_.

"Your Grace, I assure you, as long as I draw breath, no harm will—"

"Frederick," she said again, gently, and raised one white, long-fingered hand. "I summoned you here to discuss my siblings."

That wasn't all, and he knew it. And it wasn't all he had to say, either. But for the time being, there was no fighting the calm in her voice; such an impenetrable gentleness. She never would speak of herself, first.

"What would you know, milady? They are both healthy and unharmed, as I have promised you."

"And you always keep your promises." She began to walk away from the bookcase and toward him, while he kept his back an inch from the heavy rosewood door and his hands neatly folded behind him. "That's why I had you assigned to guard them."

"That's not the reason, milady."

"It's part," she assured. She was halfway to him, now. "There is no one else I would entrust them to. But health isn't all they should be concerned with, as Shepherds."

He knew.

"Chrom is maturing well," he told her, happy to hear the words pass from his lips. "He has a kind heart and a strong arm to deal his justice. Amongst the other Shepherds and the people who ask us for aid, no grievance is too small and no person too humble, to him."

"Good. And Lissa?"

"Did you even recognize her?" He allowed himself to smile, very slightly. "She has learned to endure hardship without complaint—well, mostly. Her healing skills have improved greatly, and her kindness is always evident, never tempered with selfishness or laziness as it was when she was a child."

"She is still a child."

"No, Emmeryn," he said softly.

She stopped. "Will you say that again?"

Her name. He did not. "They're not children. Any child who must race back to save their own _sister_ from an attempt on her very _life_ is not a child any longer."

"Now," she said mildly, "I must not be thought of as a sister. I am the Exalt."

"You are not to them. You are a sibling and a mentor and a mother and a friend."

"A woman like any other." Her eyes were tired.

He shook his head and answered, "There is none like you."

"I know." Her voice was almost bitter. The window made her shine, bathed in a white pool of moonlight, and she turned to look through its large glass panes. "Ever since Father's death, I have had to bear this crown. It makes one so tall. One must fit the part."

"You fit it perfectly," he insisted.

"You're kind to say so," she said as she turned from the window, and that Look—that impassiveness—was gone. Her eyes were bright and full, like they had been years ago, the first time she put on that crown and he'd been promoted to royal guard, when he had his first excuse to touch her, to slide his lips along the back of her hand in fealty. "But sometimes, I…"

She trailed off. He couldn't bear unfinished things. Perhaps that was why she'd done it.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It isn't important."

"It is to me."

She stared at him for a long while, as if calculating how his feelings had changed in the past years—or, more aptly, how they hadn't.

"You mustn't tell anyone," she begged in a whisper.

"I promise." He was walking toward her now, step by slow step, away from the dark door and into the moonlight.

"Sometimes…" She kept her eyes on him, although he recognized the squirming behind her stoic gaze, for he'd seen it in a thousand shy recruits unwilling to admit that they were frightened, that they were in pain, that they could not withstand the slick heat of blood on their hands. "Sometimes I wish this had not passed to me. I wish I could be young, like Lissa, and learn to grow as a normal woman can."

"Milady—"

"Please, don't judge me. You don't know how hard it is. I wanted you by my side, Frederick, but the advisors and the nobility saw through us immediately. An Exalt cannot be distracted, with war on the horizon. She must think of her people first, always. She can not feel love for the man who guards her, or joy when he smiles, or lust when he kisses her. Not until Ylisse is stable. And it won't be, for many, many years. My marriage must be political."

He remembered those kisses. She would summon him and order him to shut the door behind him, she would ask for word of Chrom and Lissa from their play, and she'd remove her crown while he fell to kissing her, each one brief but warm. They bothered him because he was a man of action, a man of plans, and no matter how much he wished to marry her and carry her off to his fief, it was simply impossible. It would ruin the order of things. But what other order was there? She was bound to marry a Khan or a Valmese duke or that damned mad Gangrel; _that_ was the plan. All he could offer her was his protection and his comfort, and he would die before he denied her either.

One of those nights, they had found themselves on her bed, with her tugging his shirt off and him sucking on her neck, too haze-minded to care what marks he left—he was nothing if not thorough. He was also so much younger then; so much more foolish. He'd planned to lie with her then and there: it was so perfect and symmetrical, both virgins, both newly promoted, neither ready. The skin of her shoulder was flawless when he began to pull off her robe; his own random freckles had always irritated him because they were irregular. He bent to kiss it, and she whispered in his ear,

"I'm making you the guardian of the Shepherds. Their first mission is tomorrow. You will leave with Chrom at dawn."

He'd stopped. Sat up. Left her. Her eyes did not tell him to stay.

He'd seen her at random intervals, since then, returning victorious with first Chrom and then Lissa as well, doing their duties to serve the people. She would always be in the distance, up on a dais or waving from her balcony. Occasionally he would speak to her, but never in her rooms, and never with that old order: "Close the door, please, Frederick."

It was for the best, of course. It was his duty to serve her and the realm however she saw fit. But he often wondered what would have happened if he hadn't left, hurt and confused. If he'd stayed and insisted they forget their crushing responsibilities, just for a little while. But then, he wasn't sure if he was even _capable_ of that.

Her bed was just as they'd left it: cool, unwrinkled, and incredibly white.

She was still looking at him, still wishing to be simply a woman, waiting for his answer.

"I understand," he told her finally, "just as I understood then. I am not what Ylisse needs, so I can not be what you need. And that is all right." He reached out to touch her cheek. She closed her eyes, but he could feel nothing through his glove. "It has been my duty to train the Shepherds these long years, and thus my pleasure. If the Exalt wishes anything of me, I am happy to obey." He hesitated before admitting, "Because I love Chrom and Lissa. I love them so deeply, Emmeryn."

"Say it again?" she asked for the second time.

"Emmeryn," he repeated fervently.

"Yes."

"I love them." He felt he needed to repeat that, too; needed to say his peace. "I won't let any harm come to them. And this night, no matter who's out there or how skilled they are, I will not let any harm come to _you_ either. Because I—"

"I'm not concerned," she said evenly, opening her eyes, which stopped him in his tracks.

"Not concerned?" he demanded. "An assassin is coming for you, surely the first of many in your reign, and—"

"And so you are all here with me," she finished for him as a smile broke like dawn across her face. "You will all protect me, I know. What do I have to fear?"

"Me finishing my sentences, it seems."

Her smile did not falter: it simply vanished, retreating into that far-off Look. "I do not think it wise to say that you love me aloud."

"No. But perhaps you need it confirmed."

"I believe that such a confirmation would cause me only pain."

He immediately felt unworthy of standing in the same puddle of moonlight with her. How could he be so insensitive? So blind to her feelings and her hardships? He was sure he'd damaged her enough by having the audacity to leave the doorway and walk close enough to touch her. Selfishly. Completely lacking in chivalry.

"Please forgive me," he murmured at once. "The others are well and I should attend to the castle's security. I will leave you in peace."

He turned to go but she grabbed his sleeve and a desperate voice he didn't even recognize wavered,

"No!"

Slowly, he turned back to face her. "Your Grace, I don't want to cause you any heartache."

"What of yours? Sometimes making the right decisions is so complicated. Am I doing the right thing, by making you swallow what you want to say?"

"Yes," he answered immediately. "I have carried my feelings this long; I can continue as long as you need me to."

"What I _need_ is to to be caught," she said. "Please, Frederick. I feel like tonight is just the beginning of something."

"I don't understand."

"It's just going to get worse, isn't it? Just like you said. More assassins, greater dangers, and for my brother and sister and _you_ as well as myself. I feel like I am falling, and dragging a great many people down with me."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her there, in the light from the window, despite his armour and the knowledge that soon he would have to be back with the others, by his post. He held her as close as he could. She always looked so calm and so unbreakable before the people, but who could remain truly unbroken, knowing that men were after them, out for blood, simply because they were born into a house? Because of their father's actions? That this would continue as long as they lived?

"This was our decision," he whispered into her hair, ignoring how the golden bars of her crown pressed against his face. "We know you can't do all this alone. You're very brave to try, Emmeryn."

"Only because I have all of you."

He just hugged her tighter. What would they do without her? What would _he_ do? There was so much that could happen. He hadn't triple-checked all the locks on the doors and windows, yet.

"Thank you Frederick," she whispered as she pulled away.

"Of course, Your Grace."

"No," she said as she pulled the crown out of her long, yellow hair. Wisps stuck up afterward, imperfectly, so he smoothed them down. "Just give me one moment of respite."

He leaned down and touched her mouth with his fingers, then with his own lips. She closed her eyes and put her hands over his, where they cradled her face. He made the kiss as long and tender as he could stand it, and when he began to think of the bed again, of how impossible it was to pick up where they had left off, he gently pulled away.

"I love you too," she said, very softly.

"No harm will come to you," he swore. "I will die, first."

"I certainly hope not."

_Falling_, he thought. She was watching her kingdom fall apart in her father's wake and struggling to pick up the pieces. And so she'd forever be a threat, an eternal target to every nation, and she would never be rid of the deep nausea of plummeting. And everyone she cared about would have to sacrifice their lives for hers, if it came down to it. And still she wore that Look so easily.

"I am here for you," he insisted. "For anything you need."

"I know." She smiled sincerely for him again, and then put her hands on his shoulders to give him another kiss, softer than the first. "I do not like to be so pessimistic, even if you insist it's the only practical thing to do. I like to hope that this turmoil will settle, and I will be allowed a little selfishness, and I can have you back at my side again someday."

He kissed her back, just as softly. "I will fight all the harder for peace."

A harder kiss. "Good night, Frederick."

One even harder. "Good night, milady."

Her hands slipped from his shoulders and he left, refocusing his mind to the appropriate track. He would check on Chrom and Lissa first, and then triple-check the locks. And Emmeryn would remain shut away from them, as always.

But wouldn't it be worth the fight and the anxiety and the sleepless night to see her in the morning, just from a distance? To see her healthy and serene and waving to all the people who needed her?

"What did Emm want?" Chrom asked as Frederick reached his side, at the front door. They both gazed down the stairs and into the dark courtyard while he thought of what to say.

_She wanted to be somebody else, anybody else. She wanted to be a Shepherd and your sister and my lover. She wanted to be weak and cared for. And she did not allow herself to be any of these things._

"She asked about your health and performance, as always, milord. I gave her good tidings."

"How is she? You've known her even longer than I have."

He unclasped his hands from behind his back and rested his left on the pommel of his sword.

"She is perfect," he said.

* * *

_A/N: Blah blah obvious metaphors blah. _

_Psssst I am in a closed RP group as Frederick and he needs a wifey and WE ALL KNOW WHO I SHIP BY NOW. If anybody feels like playing Cordelia, hit me up and I'll get you details._


End file.
